<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>shadows / nocturne / parting clouds by Tarredion</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462602">shadows / nocturne / parting clouds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarredion/pseuds/Tarredion'>Tarredion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Dan and Phil World Tour 2018: Interactive Introverts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Headaches &amp; Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Outsider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:02:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarredion/pseuds/Tarredion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil wakes up with a migraine, causing him to snap at Dan. Throughout the day, while visiting a city for the ii tour, Cornelia observes the tension, and eventually, the two of them console.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dan Howell/Phil Lester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>shadows / nocturne / parting clouds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknight1512/gifts">andthenshesaid-write (ladyknight1512)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>one of the last fics of 2020!! its finally here and complete,, thank you for your endless patience, Marie, i hope you enjoy it.</p><p>thanks to <a href="https://peggyschuylerbasically.tumblr.com">dayday</a> and <a href="https://natigail.tumblr.com">nina</a> for helping me with, also, great patience</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There’s a jolt beneath Phil’s aching body, causing him to wake. He rolls to his side inside the darkened bunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He notices two things as he rouses slightly from sleep. The first thing is the annoyingly familiar pressure behind his temples. The second is the warm, gentle hands resting on his nape; though they’re not quite comforting like they should be—and usually would be—and pull away shortly. H</span>
  <span>e wants them to linger and to ease away the throbbing in his head, yet they’re having quite the opposite effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes much longer before Phil properly comes to his senses. No one comes calling and beckoning for him, so he’s not rushed as he crawls out of bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the crew returns to the bus, he’s only made it from the breakfast bar to the bathroom. They’re just doing their job but the pain in his head makes him prickle and annoyed at the slightest thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t get a second of peace and quiet, he thinks, and rolls his eyes—much to the dismay of his creaking brain. Not a single moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning against the sink, Phil struggles doing something as simple as brushing his teeth, pain behind his eyes and a foggy reflection in the mirror that occasionally becomes two. Or even three. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan would reprimand him, but Dan’s not here to take the toothbrush from his shaking hands and wipe the slobber from his mouth. He wishes that he was, but he’ll just have to get over that and get on with it. Even with a headache, he shouldn’t have to be babysat by his boyfriend, for god’s sake. He’s a grown adult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s loud voices and hurrying footsteps outside the door, now. Each sound impales him—through one ear and out the other—and he positively feels like he might empty his stomach on the spot if has to endure another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flicks his gaze upwards as the door creaks open, having just spat in the sink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an almost timid smile, Dan beelines for the cupboard—Phil attempts to reciprocate the smile but only manages a meek grimace, too pained to mask his agony. He’s not even got the energy to soften his boyfriend’s worry by faking it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s the rustle of toiletries; Phil ignores it and leans back down over the basin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh, guess you finally decided to wake up, bub?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil stiffens. He knows Dan means well, that he’s not saying it to be mean, but he still feels an inkling of upset and—if you call it by its correct name—spite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least I’m on time most of the time unlike </span>
  <em>
    <span>somebody.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” The unintended coolness of his voice sets in when Dan breaks the silence, each word on his tongue wavering. “I— well… your brother’s waiting outside, we better hurry—” And then he’s gone, door swinging closed behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil brings his hands to his aching temples, sighing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if the day didn’t start out badly enough, he’s got to deal with fucking things up </span>
  <em>
    <span>royally </span>
  </em>
  <span>with Dan, when he doesn’t deserve deserve any grief of the grumpy-phil kind—and he’s not sure how to fix it because they’ll be around people they barely know all day, who don’t deserve that insight into the most vulnerable of them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Great.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>———</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today’s mission is to explore the town that they’re spending the next two nights in. Cornelia’s holding a hot drink, not listening to the briefing—Marianne is just repeating it for Phil and some other staff who weren’t there for the early-morning one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes a sip. It’s a bit too bitter for her taste, though it does a good job of waking her up a bit more. In that regard, it’s alldeles lagom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By her side, Dan shuffles awkwardly. She’s going to ask why, but the words die in her throat when they all start moving down the street, and he falls behind—finding Phil, who’s slouching at the very back of the group.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watches them talk among themselves, foreheads wrinkling. Her two very tall, awkward brothers-in-law (sort of), usually so sweet and calm but now looking troubled. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> been acting weird all morning, so it’s not at all surprising, even if it makes her heart ache. It’s very rare for them not to get on splendidly, to the point of laughing amongst themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now, Dan.” Is all she hears, coming close enough, before Phil snaps his lips shut, their eyes meeting. The lilt in his voice bothers her, but she can’t tell why. It makes her skin crawl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cornelia slows her step, waits for Phil to catch up to her as Dan scutters away to the front of the crew. She doesn’t get a good view of his face, towering over her, but she supposes he looks as troubled as Phil does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s visibly distraught, arms crossed and breath shaking. He seems to calm as she reaches him, closing his eyes for a few seconds, and she watches carefully so he doesn’t trip over nothing (or something) in his temporary blindness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trouble in paradise?” she asks, voice hushed. He seems to consider it, then nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you put it that way, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to tell me why? If you need a listening ear...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smirks, but it’s twisted and grim, not happy. “I… said some insensitive things to Dan earlier— no, I snapped at him, I didn’t think of what I was saying but it was still shit and I just— ugh.” He puts his hands to his temples. “I didn’t even tell him why because I feel like a mess right now and I don’t want to shout at him again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cornelia raises an eyebrow, as best she can. “Well… anything you could do with that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, it’s just a headache but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No buts,” she tuts. “You have some of the worst one’s I’ve seen, Phil, and if there’s any help you need, I… might have some painkillers—wait.” She digs her hand into her pocket, starts digging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m mostly worried about tomorrow's show though,” Phil says after a moment of hesitation. “What if we don’t click as well tomorrow? What if Marianne notices? The crew? Our audience? I want to fix this as soon as possible just… not with so many people around. And I don’t know if he’ll even want to talk about it by then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounds like they’re both properly hurt—Phil’s voice cracks. She wasn’t there when this argument happened, but she can imagine… It takes a lot to make them both this unsteady—Dan’s restlessness, too, is telling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop worrying about the tour— this is your relationship. You’ve had bad days before shows that have still gone badly or well, but nonetheless that shouldn’t be the priority, okay?” She finally fishes out an aspirin and hands it over. With a lame face, he pops it into his mouth and swallows thickly. “And i think you get that—quite well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still looking over at the others. She copies; takes another sip of the drink, playing with one of her red curls with her free hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise you’ll talk as soon as possible? It’ll hurt more the longer you go without addressing it.” She should know; his brother and her have been together almost as long as the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pass over a bridge. A flock of swans emerges from underneath it, gliding across the water below. For the first time that morning, as Phil shakes himself from his thoughts, he smiles, and so Cornelia does, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Corn. I’ll… yeah. I’ll do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” She nudges his arm, lets him chuckle as much or little as he wants at the lame joke; “And it’ll go swimmingly. After all, I think your communication skills are up to par.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they’ve all congregated in a medium-sized park—quite massive by Swedish standards—Cornelia finds her way to Dan instead. Told there’s quite a few birds to watch, the two of them join a smaller group of the crew that all seem to be locals, hired for this stop of the tour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still anxious; she gives him a gum, finding it easier to reach out with a silent hand of help now that she knows the circumstance. They don’t speak, just walk, led by the rest of the group until they’re meant to return to the larger congregation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s quite a lot of chitter chatter to participate in, but Dan keeps on glancing at Phil—who’s standing glumly at the edge of another group, though Dan seems to sense he is actually listening—until something makes him laugh loudly and Dan turns the other way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cornelia wants to distract him; points at a fountain in the distance and announces they’ll go take a look at it. Well… she gives Dan no choice but to go, dragging him along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as they fall into unusually awkward small-talk, it works, though his shoulders still tense and hunch up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She decides to keep him company for the rest of the day, sometimes joined by Martyn who’s been giving his brother weird looks. She says she’ll explain later, and she always keeps her promises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they’ve had a quick stop for lunch, and later dinner at a restaurant—where Dan and Phil sat unusually far apart, though no one openly questioned it—Marianne leads them to the hotel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As well-prepared as she always is, she explains all about the arrangements and the rest of the stay. Cornelia is quite impressed, and feels a little tinge of aspiration—she strives to be quite so organized, though she supposed being manager on such a world-wide, famous show will drill that into you. In that respect, she feels lucky that neither her or Martyn or Dan or Phil have had to shoulder that responsibility all on their own—and neither has Marianne, with the team behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marianne hands out the keys, with Martyn taking theirs. When she gives Dan and Phil their key, though, she apologizes for the particular sleeping arrangements—and while Dan goes to assure it’s okay, Phil snaps at him, and he goes even quieter. Cornelia can’t help but wince.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right…” The whole group seems quite apprehensive, suddenly, though Marianne takes it all in her stride. “Most of you are on the third and second floor, so choose either the elevator or the stairs. Wish you all a good night's sleep for an early start tomorrow morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Same as Cornelia, Marianne watches the two boys waddle away before anyone else can as much move. Dan attempts a wave in their direction, but is soon too far away for a proper goodnight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was up with both of them today?” Martyn asks, on the way up to their own room. He seems to have clued into her knowledge of the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she settles for a different answer. “Ask your brother tomorrow. He can explain with his own words... I quite believe they’ll have sorted it out by then. ” And despite the grimace she makes, she really does believe it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>———</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stumbling towards the bed, Phil fumbles out of his trousers. He’s swearing under his breath</span>
  <span>—probably having held it in all day, and that makes his heart hurt a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan lingers in the doorway</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>can’t get himself to move, torn between respecting his boyfriend’s space and helping him. By the time his brain unpauses itself, it’s too late, and Phil has starfished in the middle of the king-size. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan kneels by the bed’s edge, occupies his hands with their wires, unpacking. He can’t shake his feeling of unease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> why Phil’s gone from cranky to unresponsive so suddenly</span>
  <span>—why he drops his concerns about the sleeping arrangements the moment they’re alone, but doesn’t create conversation about anything else. A</span>
  <span>t the very least he should be loudly complaining, if not shouting</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be better than the silent treatment right now, Dan thinks; the tension is unbearable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re spiraling,” Phil says, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. “I can hear it all the way over here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil rolls over to the edge of the bed, reaching out. His hand touches Dan’s face, gently prying his bottom lip away from his teeth—he hadn’t noticed it got caught, what with the knot tight in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey— wanna tell me what’s wrong—” and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span> Phil’s voice is so quiet, patient, so soft despite the raspiness, and— Dan’s crying— fuck— he’s really </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying </span>
  </em>
  <span>crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doesn’t matter if Phil’s still angry with him—tears well up and roll down his cheeks, catching in Phil’s palm. Somewhere behind the pounding blood in his ears, his soothing words creep in, nestling next to his rapidfire heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil strokes circles on his wet skin with his thumb— it helps. It really does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry—” Dan tries, when he can finally speak, but he’s shushed by a light kiss. His face burns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Dan, don’t— what are you crying for?” Phil’s voice is almost wobblier than his as he pulls away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That really does it for Dan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t deny how relieved he is when the words just fly out of him, a jumbled and surely half-inaudible mess, rambling about how worried he’s been—and Phil just holds him, apologizes once and then explains even when he shouldn’t really have to, because he knows that’s what Dan needs in the moment—to be understood. Makes him feel safe, comforted, and in the end they’re able to just laugh it off, eyes still a bit wet but hearts beating in unison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry too, you know. Should’ve realized there was a reason you weren’t yourself—” he says. “Grumpy you can be a bit silly, huh. Silly Philly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil pouts, but wraps him tighter against himself. Somewhere in the middle of it all, they’d both ended up in bed—Dan’s jeans chafing against Phil’s bare legs. “Hey!” Can’t— won’t let you insult pre-caffeine me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d had coffee, remember.” He grins into the crook of his neck, feels him huff against his hair. “And, you really shouldn’t blame that awful habit of yours for being a dick.” He doesn’t mean it ill-willy; really doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.. suppose I was— sorry, bub.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan looks up at him, then, eyebrows raised. “You don’t have to, we’ve both—ah!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil giggles, pulls away from nibbling the tip of his nose, and it’s Dan’s time to frown, despite his flushed cheeks. He sticks his tongue out, and Phil, puffed cheeks, seems to control himself—doesn’t last long; falls back on the bed, roaring with laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile that fills Phil’s face makes Dan melt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’m here,” Phil says, softly; winces when their heads bump. “Ouch. Still ‘urts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have some good resting to do, bub.” He wouldn’t mind falling asleep like this, sardined, if it wasn’t for the goddamn jeans—tries to tread his way out of them, Phil’s hands immediately on top of his own. “Lemme just— ffff—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll help— there you go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kisses him, lightly. Phil’s always kind like that, even when he feels like hell himself. He deserves something to rectify that. “Thanks. Now, sleep time or you’ll still be a grumpy one. I’ll be the one to wake up and tell Marianne to get us some coffee, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil slots nicely against Dan’s back; the shape of Dan’s neck conforming to the bridge of Phil’s nose when it’s not his lips that rest there; bodies curved in the same much-needed s-shape, as tall as they are; knees against the back of his; arms crossed over his tummy, bunching up each side of the nightshirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows well that Phil’s soaking in his warmth, humming contently and clinging on like a koala, but he doesn’t mind. Not one bit. In the end, if it eases his ache, there’s no other way Dan could feel about it than ‘great’—’amazing’ even, because that’s what Phil is, if he’s allowed the puns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because that’s all love is about. A healthy dose of communication, communication, more communication, and, well… finding comfort and happiness in and with each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’d rather have nothing but that with Phil, and he’s certain they will. Even if they’ll have their bad days, they’ll come back to this—The best of all things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A present and future—a lifetime—together.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading !!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>